


Muscle Ache

by Rebel_Atar



Series: Very Belated 2018 Kinktober [28]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Kinktober, M/M, Massage, i thought this prompt would be super easy but for some reason it was really hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-28 22:00:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21399313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rebel_Atar/pseuds/Rebel_Atar
Summary: After a series of hard boxing matches Grantaire and Bahorel are both a little banged up. Grantaire has the solution to Bahorel's complaining but not necessarily for his own problems.
Relationships: Bahorel/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Series: Very Belated 2018 Kinktober [28]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1503962
Kudos: 9





	Muscle Ache

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: massage

Bahorel groaned into his mattress. Everything hurt. Every bone, every joint, every muscle, every tendon.

  
Grantaire chuckled at him, he was bruised but not nearly so much as Bahorel. "Learn to take a knee when you need to."

  
"I don't bow out." Was the mattress-muffled response.

  
Grantaire rolled his eyes and set about getting supplies ready. He put a couple of small towels to one side as well as the bottle of oil. Then he grabbed Bahorel's trousers by the waist and pulled them off him in one swift movement. Bahorel let out a rather high pitched squeak, that he would later deny of course, and curled slightly in on himself.

  
"None of that." Grantaire wasn't in the mood for any of his friend's nonsense for once. The sooner he got the knots out of Bahorel's muscles the sooner he could muster up some form of painkiller for himself.

  
The artist carefully unwound his friend and then threw a towel over his lower half. Less for modestly and more so he had something comfortable to sit on. He knelt on the bed, swung a leg over Bahorel, and sat rather neatly on the boxer's arse.

  
"Grantaire." Bahorel growled.

  
The artist laughed. "You said you wanted your back worked on first. I can't reach you any other way you oversized oaf."

  
Bahorel finally lifted his face from the mattress, turning it slightly to the side. "I will buck you off."

  
"And you will have no one to massage you and will lie there in agony for hours." If the artist sounded a little smug it was only because he knew he had a far easier, and less painful, match than Bahorel had.

  
Bahorel rumbled in displeasure but settled down. Grantaire grinned to himself and poured a little of the oil into his palms, rubbing his hands together to help it heat up. He started slow. Pushing with palms open across his friend's shoulder blades and up across his shoulders and trapezius muscles. Bahorel let out a great shudder and began to relax incrementally under Grantaire's hands. He grunted if the artist pressed to hard and moaned when he managed to relax a particularly difficult spot. Grantaire moved on to working with his thumbs and his knuckles, pinpointing areas that were particularly tense, sore, or retaining fluid, and working at them until Bahorel was sinking into the bed under him.

  
Every knot Grantaire managed to unwind was accompanied by a moan. He shifted a little where he sat on top of the boxer. Those moans were beginning to cause a not insignificant problem for him.  
By the time he was working on Bahorel's lower back Grantaire had needed to slide back onto the boxers legs to get the best angle to work at. He was rock hard and it took everything he had not to rub against those muscular thighs. How would he explain that to his friend.

  
He worked over Bahorel's back until he was a puddle beneath the artist's fingers. He stopped when they met the edge of the towel and lent back with some relief. Perhaps while the boxer was busy getting dressed he could make a quick exit before his problem was noticed.

  
"Don't stop." Bahorel's voice was hesitant but earnest and Grantaire felt his hands begin to shake.

  
"You don't know what you're asking, mon ami." Just the idea of it was almost too much. Grantaire had been having a rough time of it lately, an unexpected police presence had scattered the last soiree he had been fortunate enough to attend. There wouldn't be another until it was confirmed as chance rather than conspiracy, and Grantaire's success with women outside of that particular social circle was not good. He was, in the words of one particular woman, impossible.

  
Bahorel's laugh was a little hysterical. "It feels as though I'm going to impale this mattress if I'm not careful."

  
The knowledge had Grantaire rocking forward, his cock pressing against the towel preserving what was left of Bahorel's modesty.

  
The boxer pressed back against him shuddering. "You're right, I don't know what I'm asking for. But I still don't want to stop, R."

  
Grantaire warred with himself, Bahorel had always been more straightforward out of the two of them. More honest with himself as well. He didn't know what he wanted, yet he knew he wanted and was confronting it. Would this even count as taking advantage? Bahorel could throw even Grantaire around like a child's doll if he so wanted to. Whilst he thought, Grantaire couldn't stop his hips twitching, small barely there thrusts that Bahorel seemed to have no difficulty pushing back against. The artist was known for many things, but his willpower wasn't one of them. He slid the towel off and bit his lower lip at the sight his friend made.

Bahorel turned his head to look back, hair mussed and cheeks flushed. He looked at Grantaire with an undisguised appetite that his friend had never been privy to before. "You're a little overdressed, mon ami."


End file.
